Evil Under the Sun (Hercule Poirot 24) - Page 25

“I’m very fond of her.”

&n

bsp; “Ah,” said Hercule Poirot, “I am delighted to hear it.”

Patrick’s brow was suddenly like thunder.

“Look here, M. Poirot, what are you getting at?”

“Les Femmes.” Poirot leaned back and closed his eyes. “I know something of them. They are capable of complicating life unbearably. And the English, they conduct their affairs indescribably. If it was necessary for you to come here, M. Redfern, why, in the name of heaven, did you bring your wife?”

Patrick Redfern said angrily:

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Hercule Poirot said calmly:

“You know perfectly. I am not so foolish as to argue with an infatuated man. I utter only the word of caution.”

“You’ve been listening to these damned scandalmongers. Mrs. Gardener, the Brewster woman—nothing to do but to clack their tongues all day. Just because a woman’s good-looking—they’re down on her like a sack of coals.”

Hercule Poirot got up. He murmured:

“Are you really as young as all that?”

Shaking his head, he left the bar. Patrick Redfern stared angrily after him.

V

Hercule Poirot paused in the hall on his way from the dining room. The doors were open—a breath of soft night air came in.

The rain had stopped and the mist had dispersed. It was a fine night again.

Hercule Poirot found Mrs. Redfern in her favourite seat on the cliff ledge. He stopped by her and said:

“This seat is damp. You should not sit here. You will catch the chill.”

“No, I shan’t. And what does it matter anyway.”

“Tscha, tscha, you are not a child! You are an educated woman. You must look at things sensibly.”

She said coldly:

“I can assure you I never take cold.”

Poirot said:

“It has been a wet day. The wind blew, the rain came down, and the mist was everywhere so that one could not see through it. Eh bien, what is it like now? The mists have rolled away, the sky is clear and up above the stars shine. That is like life, Madame.”

Christine said in a low fierce voice:

“Do you know what I am most sick of in this place?”

“What, Madame?”

“Pity.”

She brought the word out like the flick of a whip.

Tags: Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot Mystery
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